


Love and Anger

by Cluegirl



Series: HP Drabbles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Drabble Series, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of my Harry/Draco drabbles, gathered in one place -- one 'chapter' per drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did you think I cared?

You hit me first, remember?

That time with the snitch, when your weaselley little sidekick humiliated the whole sport of Quidditch, and you couldn't stand it? You should have heard us laugh in the showers after. You should have seen me painting the tiles after everyone left, cock in one hand, prodding that bruise across my ribs with the other.

Well you're the bruised one now, and look at you; chained, filthy, degraded, two days from death, by the look of things. You've got nothing left, have you? No friends, no allies, no wand, no hope.

But you still have my fire, don't you? That heat I could always drag out of your eyes has survived.

It belongs to me. So I've come to pay you for it; even trade, fair bargain. A wand, a key, a cloak, food, money.

And if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand why.


	2. When I became as you loved me.

He watches his lover's eyes, knowing deep in his heart that it's over. The knowledge twists in his throat, but it doesn't block the whimpers as sharp little teeth track his ribs in bruise.

Because there aren't any ropes this time, just the bored command not to move. No triumphal glitter in the mercurial eyes, just a bored sort of acceptance.  
No twisting scorn as those candy-bitter lips spill scorn like a laundry list. And it kills him.

He closes his eyes as fingers drive into him, damming down tears. *You've tried too hard.* he growls at himself, *and you've ruined everything.*

"No," as his lover moves to claim him. Narrowed eyes, curled lip. Then he surges up and punches that perfect nose. He dives after as the silver boy flips backward off the bed, and wrestles him still on the floor.

"You're doing it WRONG!" he growls, summoning rope.


	3. For Duckpuppy

The cheek, sallow but warm, hollowed but supple under Draco's fingers, prickly from three days without shaving. Or speaking. Or moving at all. The eyelashes lay still, sable palm fronds on a waiting grave, the eyes beneath quiescent. No flickering dreams that he could see, no screaming nightmares, just marble-carven stillness. Draco imagined blank white as Severus' only company, and it made his heart twist.

"Please, Sir," he whispered, thumb running over hard knuckles, rolling them like twigs in a bag, "please come back. They say you can recover, maybe, and we...we need you. The first years -- they're moping about, and there's no one to..." He swallowed, tried again. "Please come back. I need you, Sir. I need you." The words, for all he'd whispered them hundreds of times since he'd raced from the dungeons to the hospital wing three days ago, still burned like tears in his throat. He pinched the braided leather cuff on his left wrist -- the only collar he was allowed, the only symbol he had of what passed between them, their secret, his strength, his comfort. "I'm yours, Sir. You can't leave me now."

A rustle behind him. Pomfrey again. More potions, more nagging. He clasped the thin hand harder, only to jump as another hand, sun-browned and broom-roughened, slid over his own. Draco flinched, but Potter held him trapped in place like a snitch. "What do you want?" he hissed, glowering, "What are you doing here?"

Potter only slid close, sat against his back on the narrow hospital bed. His sleeve rode up, revealed a cuff of snugly braided leather spanning his sharp-boned wrist. "Same as you," Potter whispered, smoothing Snape's fingers, "Same as you."


End file.
